.i want to scrapethe shell off the earth,try and give birth tosomething muchbetter,mould it and feed it and let itset out on its own to beloved,and now, bear cubdon't be sogrizzly,they'll make goodmoney from mum'sclaws and coat,mount her head on thewall by yourbrothers(always dreaming of a blind alley, and this is not a poem, just another ball of paper, throw me into the sun i want the last of the heat to be mine)
.and goddess,this isn't something i cansweat or starve out of me,i'll have to write and it willbe madness,see i've often thought aboutplacing my head in the pestleand mortar, i wonder if i couldgrind out the hell inside, becomea red pulp on the worktop, andeven the oven keeps tutting at me,it's so easy, just open the doorstick your hand in, feel his forkedtongue on your palm,orange lover, youknow you'rea cowardfor thisand it's truethat the dead are never reallysilent, they grunt and they groanin their damp soil sheets,toss and turn overagain(fill the bath with water, and just drop me in it)
.i neverlearned thelanguageof flowers,never knewwhy thenettlespat itswords at mewith venom,why thosegreenforkedtonguesleft asting(i bet the sheep don't lose a wink over the starving wolves, either)
.i don't believethat if you can dream ityou can do it,cos i once dreamt thati killed atlas,i tore him limb from limb and theni stabbed the globe he held,watched itdeflate,and sometimes i get sadabout the children in the worldwho will choke on all the wordsthat they'll never learn to speak,and there's a baby somewhere garglingthe meaning of his life,and he's a little bit upset that youkeep wiping itaway(i have no words for you)
.there issomethingabouthow you can makeall the animalspart themselveswith one wave ofyourhand,make them opentheir throats andspeakand i think i willfind you sticking pinsthrough the webbingof a bat's wing,cross legged inthe garden withthe snake aroundmy neck,that's how i'd liketo go(the world will shift, a heart will break away from it's chest, tectonic)
.i noticeyou bite the skin ofyour lip, toowhen you're nervousor have nothing tosay -writing is startingto feel a bitlike a disease -just like your brotherdoesyou know you'reexactly the sameas him -one that all thewords in the worldwon't ever cure -i'll just have toget to know youthat way, i guessno don't walkaway -i want the foxto hunt the hound,the badger to cullthe human(let's take a walk down memory lane, let's see if i can finally ditch you)
.my bedroomsuffocates me,so sometimes i climbout the window andcurl up on theroofinstead,there used to be a treedown the side that kept hisarms open for mebut he said i don't thinkyou're ever gonna knowhow it feels to bemidasor medusa,you know you'vealready got a heartof gold and eyesof stonei said nowyoudon't getto touch me(i can drop down into the alley from here, or sit with the cat like a gargoyle)
.some need to know lifelike the beasts do, the heronthe stray dog the cobra the salmondead in it's stream,but i want to shed out of my skin,don't want to be no white ghost no moreand i met a magician, got rid ofthe dirt in my mind,pulled my memories outof my temple like napkins,made a mess i couldn't clean upon the pavement outside, no tip for him,you're gonna have to excusethe mess in my soul, i wasn'texpecting visitors,been pleading with words for anexplanation, came home late last nightsmelling of someone else's ink,i think i saw the light then buti heard the darkness too, i kicked themout, now it's just me and mycrazy i keep in a tank,watch him grow limbs and climb outover the side, and now sometimeshe sits on my lap and i stroke him,but he's getting too heavy to hold andhe's starting to speak for himself,says don't drink that be goodi need you and you need me and youknow it, i don't think you can evertruly know someone until you can admitto yourself t
.lies can slipthrough your teethwith ease,the truthgets caught inyour throat(i wish it was a lie, that i'm your flesh and blood and i wish it was the truth, that i hadn't been drinking)
.if thesewalls couldtalkthen i'm surethey'd bescreamingget out,burn usdown,we can'tbearto hold youanylonger(been too busy dreaming to get any sleep)
.and god-i saw the moonleaking into the sea,a great big silvery slickon the wavesand as i held my hands upto the hole in her side,she smiled and soakedinto me(gentle, gentle, she doesn't have long)
.i can almost hearthe soundof everything -foxesweepingon the bodiesof rabbits, idid not meanto, i did notmean -howling andhowling,the deer inthe headlights sayingi told you so(and do you hear that? that's the sound of it all caving in)
.he said there are a lot of things in lifethat don't make sense,i said i know,like that time i laughed so hard at the wakei had to stay out in the garden making small talk with the smokersfor the rest of it,like the time i shut myself in the garage and went to sleepin the backseat of your car,and how i'm not at all religious but i sat in church that day withmy hands clasped andi prayed,how i kept the windows shut that sunday so what i prayed forcouldn't get in,like the time i watched her throw your stuff out on the driveway,and when she managed to smash those plates even withher broken wrist, how most hearts start to sink when tempers rise,and the time i wanted to cradle that dead pigeon i saw at thetrain station, and you told me to answer the phone and i wouldn'tbecause i knew it was you,and when the night comes calling i always let him in,i'm never quite sure who he is, but he sayshe's paid for it so now i better fuckingdrink it,he says haven't you learnt by now
.i walk into the garden at3am, find death digginghis own grave in the middleof my lawn, he says he'sdead to me now, he canjust feel it in his bones,points at the mud and saysdirt is dirtit can't pretend that it'sanything else,oh and i found that peg you lost,it was under the conifer,climbs in covers himself and leavesme standing alone(keeps sending me postcards, i wish you were here)
.there is a bodybloodless and pale,with dirty handstrying to wash it alloff, because if shecannot see it there'sa chance it won'texistso she buriedthe blood in themud with her babyteeth, asked theriver to take itaway, felt her bonesheave a sigh as shelay them all downon the banklet itallslip away(and no doubt he will say she was crazy, this bitch, with her tongue and her teeth and her mind)
.i ami amhiding poetry under the sheetsthink my heart might be beatingthe shit out of meonly thing up there is theclouds, and they don't givea fuck either, the only thingdown there is the dirt, andthat's what you are, you'rea liar(he will say you're gonna have to lower your standards a bit, got a room downstairs might be more suited)
.i often ask myself questionsand answer them too,maybe tell yourkids this,that i'm the wolf in the woods, i justsaw red and couldn't help it, whatcan i say i've got atemper, i couldn't waitto grip her neck insidemy jaws n shake it, snapit clean, cracked like a twig,you see she was a bitch she was awhore, she had itcoming, with hersweet laugh and her lips, herswaying hips inside, she carrieda rifle in her cloak, she wantedmy pelt for the angry winter,and her old gran? i suckedthe meat fromher lame ribs like she'd have donethe same to mine, i licked mychops and got inbed,had good sweet dreams untilthat axe man, that old drunk,who thought he had some bigger ballscame stumbling in through her frontdoor,they found his gutson the hall floor,and i can stillsmell it amileoff -but what i'm sayingkids, the moral is,there's nothing little bout the amountof red you're gonna see inlife, it's all about whether or notyou've got the stonesto fucking stomach it(
.tonight across the street i sawthe devil sneak into god's garden;he took trowel in hand, planted seedsin the earth, grinned real wide andshut the white gate behind him(gonna come up smelling of roses)
The PlaylistA group of us lying on the floorin a too-small apartmentthat can’t hold a fraction of our disorderssyndromes and symptomstucked under the kitchen sinkand in between self help booksand in the pages of love poetryonly half meant.A group of us lying on the floorwishing we could see the stars.but thats not how the architecturehas been set up for uswe have to live our lives blinkeredfrom the celestialbut at least we have each other.A group of us lying on the floorletting music replace our immune systemsnot caring if a misspent lyric saves us,not caring if a dropped note kills uswe don’t care about anything but the floor,these walls, these chains,that sound so familiar in an acoustic’s voice.A group of us lying on the floorcaring about nothing but the ceilingthats blocking out the light.
Morpheus Hexi.I am the moon walker,the black coffee athletein the star-dotted evening gown.I am young, but I feel old,like an antique withfresh paint.Sleep lives in my shadow,a morphine caregiverwith gentle hands,but I dare not fall into his arms.There is a sad knowledgein his eyesthat I do not trust.ii.You left me behind,but my pillow stillsmells like you,and now my bed feelslike a fucking coffinwithout you in it.iii.Nights like thismake me wonderwhat it feels like to die.It bothers me thatonly the dead know,and they refuse to share their secret.One day I will find outthe truth for myself,and that scares me.iv.Three a.m. teaches youhow to suffer quietly.Sleep pulls on my sleevelike a black-cloaked child.He tells me everything will be alright(but by morning, I knowhe will be gone, andI will be alone again).
.Every night I praythe miles of nervesbeneath my skinwill melt away, sothe lash of yourtongue canno longer sting.
you should be home by nowlast tuesday the house took my hand & said,it's more of a hurricane than a firesince he broke in & burnedmy curtainsmy floorsmy bridgesmy selfbut sometimes I see her with a lighter& she finishes what he didn't do(I think she's afraidof settling in,being quiet)but last tuesday I realized that she kept the lights onto frighten away the bridges & the peopleso no one will come inside& smash the teacups, steal the pipesbecause since he burnt her beds outno one lives there anymore
Fly little childChild of air and lighthiding within a cageof leaves and twigswhy do you not rise?One who hangs so near to the skyhas no right to neglect itto return to the groundand crawl amongst the worms beneathlike those you chose to rise abovelike those who can only aspireto be so near to the sky as you.Child of feather and beautyHanging between wonder and despairto do not hear the sound of your wings' sadnessdo you not hear how they weep?How they beg for a returnfor a chanceto bask amongst the cloudsfor which they were meant to see.Children of wonder and sunlightwill rise above your chainsof fear and hoplesness?Rise and fly above me , above the Earthabove all of usand let us watch from the shadows of your wings.Little childwill you fly for yourself,will you fly fo
all i did was say i love you.and don't you know how to give good revengeby taking flower petal lips you gave to meand planting them for all my friends.
resurgencelet's make small talk,six month silence swelling;sticking inside our throats,filling the space between us.let's make small talkand skirt furtive eyes aroundthe absence we never quiteaccustomed ourselves to.this is easy,but then it's always beeneasy.we move lightly,flow smoothlyin synchronous;an oh-so similarfamiliar scene.let's make small talk,stumble on faux pas promisesand the intimacy between twowho are no longer intimate.orbiting the past,we dance in words.
Could I Send You The StarsCan I send you the stars?A million twinkling letttersWaiting above your head each night to be readIn gentle melody like midnight lullabiesFor the girl I dearly wish could hear them.Can I borrow your moon?I know without it your nights may feel emptyBut I envy its lovely radiance shiningUpon those two eyesI wish I could see wish I could gaze intoSo instead could I borrow your Moon?And gaze into it hoping I'll find the lovelinessOf your eyes there instead.Could I steal your Sun?And pocket it's millionsAnd millions of memoriesOf lightly caressing you with its raysKnowing the feel of every beautifully delicatePart of you for every day of every year..Could I lease your dreams?And reside there with youUnderneath our stars' gentle lullabiesAnd beneath the Moon's loving gazeAway from the Sun's prying raysWith you...Since you're all I really need.So could I send you the starsAnd hope they'll send my love too?
OsteophilicHe loved his bones.The way they never asked too much of himor protested his requests.There was nothing superfluous in their design;simple, sleek, and uncomplicated.They were spry, robustready to take on the world withsharp and fluid motions.His bones were not brittle like she was.Not so breakable or frail,not so expendable.They didn't bend under pressureor fracture under stress.He loved his bones -their ivory purity eased his soul -and he was proud of the waythey held everything togetherso effortlessly.She knew one day he'd stomp thisold flame out, long before 'death do us part.'Cremation had never been part of the plan.
.i can't give youthatbut i can birth youa godwith my eyes instead,pray to him hard withmy tongue(take refuge when he wakes)